


Mothsbane

by JHarper



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Gen, Non-Miraculous Super Villain, Original villain - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 07:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19372273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JHarper/pseuds/JHarper
Summary: When Gabriel Agreste began his campaign for the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous, he did not take into consideration that there were other powers besides the Miraculous abroad in the world. Nor did he ever conceive of the possibility that there were beings who would desire the Butterfly Miraculous, and would use any method at their disposal to take it from him...





	Mothsbane

Mothsbane

 

A Miraculous Ladybug Fan Fiction

 

by

 

Jeremy Harper

 

Disclaimer – Miraculous Ladybug is the creation of Thomas Astruc and is used without permission.

 

Note – This story takes place before the events of the second season episode _Syren._

 

 

Chapter 1 – Caught in a Steel Web

 

Gabriel Agreste reviewed the final document of the morning one last time before signing it and handing the tablet back to his assistant.

 

“Is there anything else that needs my attention?”

 

Nathalie Sancouer shook her head. “No, sir.”

 

He rose behind his desk, tall and imposing. “Very well. Until further notice I am not to be disturbed.”

 

“Of course, Mr. Agreste.” Nathalie departed the atelier, heels clicking on the tiled floor. When he heard the door close Gabriel took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair.

 

“Soon,” he muttered to himself. “Soon.” He turned and walked to the portrait of his wife that dominated the room, looking at the image of the beautiful Emelie Agreste with a gentleness of which few people thought him capable, drawing upon his love for her to fortify himself for the task ahead. Graceful fingers danced across the lower portion of the portrait; in response the floor beneath him shifted and descended, taking him to his secret place.

 

Once in his sanctum Gabriel paused, closing his eyes and tilting his head slightly back, listening to the fluttering of soft wings as his akuma took to the air, disturbed by his arrival. He needed the moment to steel his will, for the string of defeats he had suffered at the hands of Ladybug and Cat Noir were beginning to take a toll. To be kept from what he desired beyond all reckoning by a pair of callow children galled him bitterly. He inhaled slowly through his nose, forcing down the hot rage the thought invoked.

 

“Their past victories do not matter,” he whispered. “Let them enjoy them. I only need to win _once_.” He stepped to the center of the sanctum, stretching his arms out to his sides. 

 

“Nooroo,” he called. The tiny purple kwami emerged from Gabriel's sports coat pocket and stared up at his master with mournful eyes. Gabriel pulled off his tie, revealing his dormant Miraculous.

 

“Dark wings rise,” said Gabriel.

 

Despite the many times he had experienced it, the rush of transformation, of becoming something more than human, had not yet dulled. Gabriel's mouth twisted into a shark-like slash as purple energy coruscated over him, strengthening his body and expanding his awareness, granting him more senses than five, allowing him to perceive more dimensions than three. His clothes shifted and darkened, becoming the stark purple and gray suit of Hawk Moth. His cane materialized in his hand and he planted it on the concrete floor, resting his weight upon it.

 

“We begin,” said Hawk Moth. Closing his eyes, he cast the net of his awareness out into the invisible emotional ocean in which Paris swam, searching for just the right mental turmoil that would serve his purpose. No mere quotidian disappointment would do. The thwarting of a heart-felt desire, the violation of a cherished belief, the crushing failure of a long labored for goal – those made for the best akuma. 

 

_There_ , he thought.  _Violent grief and incandescent rage. A woman betrayed by a man she thought had loved her. Cast aside thoughtlessly by a boor who had used her for his own mindless pleasure. The perfect alloy for me to forge into the akuma that will finally defeat Ladybug and Cat Noir._

 

He opened his eyes and held out an upturned palm. A white butterfly lighted upon it; he cupped the insect between his hands and imbued with his malevolent will, staining the purity of its form a lambent purple-black. At his silent command the great window of his sanctum dilated. Hawk Moth released the butterfly and watched it fly with mindless purpose out of the lair. 

 

“Go my little akuma,” he said. “Evillize her.” His laughter reverberated against the walls of his sanctum.

 

 

 

In a rotting warehouse on the banks of the Seine a woman waited. She sat on a cheap metal folding chair, legs crossed and slim fingers steepled before her mouth. Every window of the warehouse was covered by thick canvas cloth; the only illumination in the cavernous space was a burning brazier set on a small table. By the brazier was a cylindrical block of polished wood. Burnt into the top of the block was a circle of strange letters; in the dim light they seemed to squirm and writhe, taking on new configurations with every passing breath. Within this circle lay a rude human shape molded from white wax. The woman stared at the figure with eyes the color of molten-gold, her attention unwavering.

 

Suddenly the woman smiled and looked upward. A black butterfly fluttered down into the brazier light, erratically descending toward the wax figure. The butterfly hovered an inch above the figure, hesitating briefly before landing upon it, melting into it and covering it with a brief burst of black energy. The figure twisted, remolding itself, indistinct features sharpening into fine detail. What was once inchoate became concrete – within the circle of letters now lay an effigy of a lean man in a stark suit, features concealed by a tight cowl.

 

The woman stood and stepped to the block, rubbing her hands in anticipation.

 

 

 

 

Hawk Moth frowned in confusion. He had felt his akuma touch his intended target, but at the very moment of contact the seething emotions he had detected vanished, winking out of existence as suddenly as a burst soap bubble. He was now aware of an  _emptiness_ , for lack of a better term, as if a portion of his senses was enclosed within a hermetically sealed block. 

 

“What is going on here?” he muttered to himself.

 

_Hello, Hawk Moth._

 

He sucked in a hissing breath. A voice reverberated in his mind - feminine, a rich contralto, cultured and refined, carrying a hint of amusement that sent an unfamiliar shiver of apprehension snaking down his spine. Even more alarming was the fact that no empathetic connection had been established. When in contact with his akuma he could sense his servants' emotions, sift through their thoughts, perceive their surroundings every bit as clearly as they could. But right now he could sense nothing.

 

_I am happy, so happy, to finally make your acquaintance,_ said the voice. It sounded faint, oddly muffled, as if this woman spoke through a pane of glass. 

 

“Who are you?” he snarled. His demand was met with a dark chuckle.

 

_My name is not for you, but if you wish to call me something, call me... Arachne._ The voice laughed _._ Apprehension coursed through him again, and in response he silently commanded his akuma to retreat. He felt it attempt to obey, but something held fast to it. It struggled, but in doing so seemed to bind itself tighter in whatever trapped it, its desperate effort making Hawk Moth's blood hum as if stimulated by a mild electric charge. 

 

_Poor little Hawk Moth_ , Arachne crooned.  _Caught in a web spun from barbs and steel._

 

Hawk Moth gritted his teeth. “What do you want from me?”

 

_What I want is something... Miraculous._

 

He slammed his cane against the floor. “Never! Ladybug and Cat Noir's Miraculous are to be mine and mine alone. I will not surrender my claim on them!” 

 

_You are mistaken, measuring me in comparison to your own greed. I do not want them. Oh, I acknowledge their potency, but truthfully their power is too unwieldy for my purposes. I desire a more subtle Miraculous. I want_ _**your** _ Miraculous _ , Hawk Moth.  _

 

“What?”

 

_ The Butterfly Miraculous would tremendously compliment my own abilities, allowing me to further my own designs. You will give your Miraculous to me, happily and without demure.  _

 

Hawk Moth found himself speechless. Of all the scenarios he had considered when he began his campaign, he had never conceived of someone other than Ladybug and Cat Noir trying to take his Miraculous. Nor had he ever expected to encounter someone possessing power derived from something other than a Miraculous. He had studied the Grimoire thoroughly, knew the abilities of the known extant Miraculous, and none of those cataloged had the capacity to entrap an akuma in this fashion. 

 

He shook himself out of his reverie. “No,” he said, his knuckles cracking as he tightened his grip on his cane. “I have not labored so long just to surrender my power to some anonymous voice whispering at me from nowhere. I refuse.”

 

_ Do you now? _

 

Hawk Moth gasped loudly, his cane dropping from a nerveless hand as his eyes bulged wide and started from their sockets. He grasped instinctively at his stomach, doubling over in agony. It felt as if a white hot flame had ignited within him, and was now slowly searing his intestines to ash. He screamed out hoarsely, dropping to his knees and falling over on his face as pain overwhelmed him. 

 

 

 

In the warehouse the woman removed a steel pin from the abdomen of Hawk Moth's wax effigy. Smoke rose from the needle's angry red tip. Smiling serenely, she tossed the pin into the darkness and from the brazier drew another.

 

 

 

The fiery pain vanished as suddenly as it came. Hawk Moth gasped and slowly pushed himself up. Beneath his cowl his face and hair was soaked with sweat, his eyes bright with fear as his mind raced desperately to formulate some plan of defense.

 

_ You will renounce your claim on the Butterfly Miraculous _ , Arachne whispered.  _ And you will surrender it to me. _

 

He shook his head, took a breath. “Dark wings -” He could not finish the command, his voice cutting off in a gargling, choking scream, for now it seemed molten lead was being poured down his throat. He clutched at it, fell on his side and writhed like snake in torment. After a seeming eternity the pain vanished, leaving him sobbing in relief as he rolled onto his back.

 

_ I will continue teaching you lessons in pain until you submit,  _ said Arachne.  _ You fool. You infantile man. You have in your possession a magical artifact of unique ability, and you squander its power in pointless magical brawls. You are unworthy of such a thing.  _ _**I** _ _ will put it to far better use. Surrender it, or I will tear you apart – body, mind and soul.  _

 

Hawk Moth did not answer, instead reaching up with his right hand to tear the brooch off. He screamed as an invisible, burning knife pierced his forearm, shooting infernal agony right to the core of his bones. He beat upon the floor with his left fist as he struggled to grab his Miraculous. 

 

_ You are a most stubborn man, Hawk Moth. It is almost admirable. But I am far stronger than you. Submit, or else learn there are fates in this world far worse than mere death.  _

 

“Never,” he whispered hoarsely. “Never.” He let loose a scream, a terrible, rising cry – the cry of a person whose soul was being wrenched out of his body by slow, torturous increments. He dropped his right arm, but the next instant his left blurred up and lashed away. Gabriel Agreste heard the Butterfly Miraculous clatter on the floor as his transformation crumbed from him. 

 

He did not know how long he lay on the cold stone floor, eyes staring blindly, the only sound in his universe his ragged breathing. Every few seconds he trembled as specters of pain rose up to wrack him. Finally he became aware of a faint voice calling to him –  _ Master, Master.  _ He could see again, dimly, vision clearing enough to perceive Nooroo hovering above him. 

 

“Nooroo,” he whispered. “Your Miraculous...” The little kwami left his field of vision, returning with the brooch clutched between his paws. Arm trembling, he lifted his left hand and took it. Closing his eyes tight, he forced himself to roll over, groaning with the effort, and painfully crawled toward the sanctum's concealed elevator. 

 

 

 

“Nathalie... Help me...”

 

Nathalie started at her employer's voice coming from her intercom. She had never heard him sound like this – weak and breathless. A chill of premonition flowed over her as she pushed out of her chair and strode quickly toward Gabriel's atelier. She stepped through the door without knocking then stopped short, gasping in shock. Gabriel sat behind his desk, slumped in his chair in an undignified fashion, his hair disheveled and his face bleached white and slick with sweat, lines of pain etched so deeply into it it looked as if they had been cut into his visage with a knife. Nathalie shook off her surprise and rushed to his side.

 

“Mr. Agreste, what happened?”

 

He stared at her blindly, his usually steely, focused eyes filmed with pain. He blinked then swallowed, trying to rally shattered faculties.

 

“Ambushed,” he rasped out. His breathing was harsh and laborious, growing more so with each passing moment. “Someone... trapped my akuma... used it to attack me...”

 

“Impossible! How on earth-”

 

Gabriel cut her off by thrusting the Butterfly Miraculous at her with a shaking hand.

 

“She wants this... take it... get it out of the mansion... hide-” A horrible choke rattled in his throat and he shivered violently, his eyes rolling back. He slithered boneless from his chair and would have fallen hard on the floor if Nathalie had not caught him.

 

“Mr. Agreste. Mr. Agreste! _Gabriel!_ ” Cradling him in one arm, she frantically pulled out her cell phone from her pocket to dial Emergency Services.

 

 

 

She called herself Javanne.

 

It was not her real name, anymore than Arachne was. In truth she could not remember the name her parents had given her; long ago, she had traded it away in exchange for power. Javanne suited her well-enough.

 

She looked down at the wooden block, her golden eyes burning with anger as the wax effigy blackened, bloated, and crumbled to pieces. She hissed through bared teeth, her right hand clenched by her thigh, grimacing sharply before shaking her head and taking a deep breath to calm herself. A fit of temper would gain her nothing.

 

“The winds of fortune,” Javanne muttered. “He is stronger than I guessed.” Taking another breath, she gestured at the brazier. The flames guttered and died, plunging her in darkness. Time now for her to contemplate her next move.

 

 

 

The class room door cracked open and Mr. Damocles' assistant poked in her head.

 

“I'm sorry to disturb your class, Ms. Bustier, but Adrien Agreste needs to come to the office.”

 

Adrien sighed softly, a frown flickering across his face. He thought he had a rare free afternoon after school, and was looking forward to hanging out with Nino, Alya and Marinette, but this was not the first time his father had pulled him out of class early for some unexpected project. He gave Nino an apologetic smile.

 

“I'm sorry,” he said.

 

“It's okay,” Nino responded, giving him a friendly punch to the shoulder. “Not like it's your fault. Give me a call when you get free.” Adrien nodded, stowed his school book and tablet in his bag and headed out.

 

Marinette mournfully watched him leave. She had been looking forward to this afternoon, having planned in meticulous detail to finally ( _maybe)_ have a proper conversation with Adrien. Alya gave her a sympathetic pat on her shoulder.

 

Class continued without incident. Eventually the final bell rang. Ms. Bustier gave instructions on homework and the students began to pack up for the day. Nino turned in his seat to face Alya and Marinette.

 

“You guys still want to hang out?” he asked.

 

“I'm up for it, babe,” said Alya happily. “Marinette?”

 

“Sure,” she answered, not quite as enthusiastically, still feeling down from Adrien being forced to cancel.

 

A sudden high-pitched shriek made them wince. Everyone still in the classroom immediately looked at the shriek's source. Chloe stood ramrod straight behind her desk, staring at her phone with wide-eyed horror.

 

“Chloe, what's wrong?” Sabrina asked.

 

Chloe ignored her. She shook her head sharply. “ _Adri-kins!_ ” she shouted, before dashing out of the classroom, a white and yellow blur.

 

“Adrien?” said Marinette, sudden worry twisting her stomach. Alya pulled out her phone and went to her newsfeed. She sucked in a breath.

 

“Guys...” she turned her phone so Marinette and Nino could see the screen.

 

Nino's eyes went wide behind his glasses. “Bro...”

 

Marinette covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh no...”

 

The headline read: _Gabriel Agreste Hospitalized._

 

 

 

Adrien sat by his father's hospital bed, hands clenched in his lap, lips pressed tightly to keep them from trembling. It was strange, so strange, to see his father like this. Adrien had always viewed Gabriel Agreste as a towering figure, strong and impervious, dominating any situation through force of personality and sheer will. But now he looked withered and diminished, a crumbling shell of his former self. His face was pale and strained, and his breathing far too harsh for Adrien's liking. Monitors beeped in time with the labored rise and fall of his chest.

 

Adrien took a shaky breath and looked toward the doorway. He saw Nathalie speaking with the doctor. Resentment flared through Adrien. When he had started to ask questions about his father's condition the doctor said that it would be best if Adrien did not hear this, being so young. Nathalie had concurred and he was dismissed, despite his protests. At least he was allowed to sit with his father.

 

His vision wavered. A sob escaped him. He choked for a moment before swallowing hard and wiping his eyes with the back of a hand. _Oh God_ , he thought in despair, _am I going to lose him too?_

 

“Adrien?” He quickly pulled himself together and looked to the doorway. Nathalie within it. “We need to go now. The doctors need to perform a few more tests.”

 

“But...”

 

“We will come back tomorrow.”

 

Adrien sighed. “Alright.” He stood from his chair, looking down at Gabriel. “Good bye, father.” He kissed his father's brow; he felt so cold. “I love you.”

 

As they entered the hospital lobby Adrien heard a familiar voice speaking in a loud, demanding tone, and despite its shrill stridency he could not help but smile.

 

“Don't you _know_ who I am?” Chloe Bourgeois demanded.

 

“Yes,” the receptionist answered, his tone indicating his patience was wearing thin. “You're the daughter of the Mayor of Paris. Nonetheless, Gabriel Agreste is currently not receiving any visitors beyond his immediate family and personal assistant. Now I must insist you leave, Miss Bourgeois. You are disturbing our patients and the staff.”

 

Chloe opened her mouth to begin an epic tirade. Adrien cut her off by stepping next to her and saying her name. She whipped around to face him, staring at him a moment before grabbing him in a ferocious embrace. For once Adrien did not mind. He hugged her back almost desperately.

 

“I rushed over here the moment I saw the news,” Chloe said. “Is your dad alright? Are _you_ alright?”

 

“He's... Father had a heart attack,” said Adrien. “He's still unconscious. They wouldn't tell me how serious it is.” He glanced back at Nathalie reproachfully.

 

Nathalie bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment of the rebuke. “It was moderate, as such things go. Mr. Agreste is in stable condition, though the doctors still need to run tests. Baring any complications, he will recover in time.”

 

Chloe nodded. “And you, Adrien?”

 

“I... I...” A strong shudder coursed through him. His vision blurred, and he felt his lips tremble, his throat convulse. He clutched his oldest friend hard, nearly crushing her against him. Chloe did not protest; she rubbed his back, murmuring soothing tones into his ear.

 

“My poor Adri-kins,” she said with a sincerity that would have surprised any of her classmates. “Come back to the hotel with me. I'll take care of you.”

 

Nathalie shook her head. “It would be best if Adrien returned to Agreste Manor. This has been a trying day for him and he needs rest.”

 

“He can rest as well at _Le Grande_ ,” Chloe retorted, glaring at the older woman. “He's cooped up in that dreary house all by himself too much of the time as it is.”

 

Nathalie frowned sharply. Adrien raised a hand to check her retort. “Please, Nathalie. I... I don't want to go back there right now. I want to be with a friend. Please.”

 

She stared at the two teens for a few moments, her expression odd. Adrien's brow knitted slightly as he looked back. _She seems worried,_ he thought. _No, she's_ _ **afraid.**_ _For father? It would make sense, but... that doesn't feel right._ “Nathalie?”

 

Nathalie sighed, shaking her head slightly. “Very well, Adrien. You may go. Marcus will pick you up at 20.00 tonight.”

 

He smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Nathalie.” But as Chloe led him away, chattering in an attempt to lift his spirits, he frowned thoughtfully.

 

 

 

 

“Wake up, Agreste,” a voice whispered in the darkness. “Wake up, Agreste. Wake up.”

 

Gabriel Agreste coughed and flinched away from the smell assailing his nostrils. It was sharp and sulfurous, burning his sinuses and plunging a sharp dagger of pain between his eyes. He vented a low groan and opened his eyes.

 

It took a moment to orient himself. His vision was blurry due to lack of glasses and slowly dawning consciousness, but he quickly realized he was in a dimly lit hospital room. His memory was blank, but recent events rapidly filled the void in his mind. He took a deep, shaky breath, the effort nearly knocking him back out. He could not recall the last time he felt so weak.

 

“Welcome back to the Sunlit Lands, Agreste.”

 

He followed the voice, looking to his left, and sucked in his breath. He recalled a phrase he once read – where he could not remember: a woman so beautiful she could make a dumb man fall to his knees and cry out, 'Praise God who made her!' Such was the woman sitting by him. Her hair was a long fall of flaming red, framing a perfectly molded face, gorgeously aristocratic. Her full lips were painted deep red, contrasted to excellent effect her pale-silk skin. The dress she wore was an unadorned black and deceptively simple-looking, tailored to accentuate her lush figure without being vulgar. Slim, strong hands, bare of rings, lay folded in her lap, their fingers long, nails painted to match her lips. Molten-gold eyes considered him with a secretive amusement.

 

She was indeed lovely – lovely beyond compare. But something about her disquieted Gabriel. Her beauty seemed to him a satanic beauty, the beauty of a flame snatched from the floor of hell. A beauty that could make a dumb man fall to his knees and cry out in fear of the devil who made her.

 

Cold dread blanketed his aching body. Gabriel swallowed, slowly and painfully.

 

“Who are you?” he managed to croak out.

 

The woman smiled a sinner's cruel smile. “You know who I am... Hawk Moth.”

 

He did. Gabriel now recalled with a terrible clarity the venom-sweet voice that had echoed and mocked in his mind as hellfire seared his body. But despite his weakness and the shock of fear, his face showed no hint of recognition. His natural stoicism served him well.

 

“What are you talking about?” he said. “I don't know you. And I'm not that terrorist super-villain.”

 

“Don't bother dissembling. I _know_. Soon after our encounter I saw the news that world famous fashion designer Gabriel Agreste had suffered a heart attack and was hospitalized. An intriguing coincidence, don't you think? A man so wealthy and well-traveled falling severely ill so soon after the infamous Hawk Moth escaped my well-laid trap. I made a simple gamble, came here to see you, and found I gambled well. You think I would not recognize the touch of my magic?”

 

“You're mad,” said Gabriel.

 

“No, I assure you I'm quite sane. Be wise, Agreste – you've lost. Now tell me where you've hidden the Butterfly Miraculous.”

 

“The only Miraculous I've heard of are the ones Ladybug and Cat Noir are suppose to have.” His right hand began to fumble in search of the nurse call button.

 

“Don't,” said the woman. She gestured at a corner of the private room. “Look.”

 

His gaze reluctantly followed, brow furrowing with effort. It took a moment to perceive, but he realized the darkness in the corner did not look right. It seemed to have shape, a strange, humped-over form. Suddenly the darkness _rippled_. Cold sweat sprang up on Gabriel's brow as a pair of hell-ember eyes stared at him.

 

“I am protected in dimension,” the woman whispered. “Anyone disturbing us will briefly but most sincerely rue it.” She chuckled and shook her head. “Though perhaps you wouldn't care, considering the magical torment you've put Paris through this past year. Still, the quaint antics of your akuma pale in comparison to what my shadow would do to some hapless nurse. I don't think you have to stomach to witness such a thing.”

 

Gabriel went completely still. His face paled to a ghastly white and each beat of his heart was a knife stroke to his chest.

 

“I ask you again, Agreste: where is the Butterfly Miraculous?”

 

Gabriel swallowed painfully then shook his head. “I don't know. I don't know because I've told you I've never heard of such a thing. I am not Hawk Moth.”

 

An explosive breath hissed through the woman's teeth as she suddenly stood, looming over him, her beautiful face contorted with hellish wrath.

 

“I grow tired of this game,” she said. “Have you heard of haruspicy? I have some training in the art. Enough that I think with some effort I can divine the location of your Miraculous after a thorough examination of your entrails. Shall we put my skills to the test?”

 

For the first time Gabriel allowed emotion to show on his face, but it was not the fear she seemed to expect. He glared up at the woman with a look of cold, superior contempt, his mouth crooked with a contemptuous sneer. She flushed deep red, slipping a hand down to reach under the hem of her skirt. But she checked the action, falling still, anger vanishing, leaving her expression smooth and thoughtful. She let out a little huff of laughter and bowed her head.

 

“Twice now I have underestimated you,” she declared. “You are very strong – far more formidable than I expected.” She smiled and settled back in her chair. “But I have learned many things in the course of my pursuits. I know that every barrier, no matter how formidable, can be circumvented. That every trap, no matter how lethal, has a loophole. That every man, no matter how obdurate, has a handle which can lever him into compliance.” She smiled at Gabriel with beautiful malevolence. “I did some research on you before I came to visit. You have a son.”

 

Now he showed fear, a brief, flickering flash crossing his stoic face. “No,” he gasped out before he could stop himself.

 

“A beautiful young man,” she crooned. “Your Adrien. Handsome and accomplished. I've read how proud you are of him, how much you cherish him. I think I would have much enjoyable sport with the boy.” She leaned toward him. “Your Miraculous...”

 

Silence choked the room. Against his will, Gabriel trembled beneath the woman's serenely baleful regard. _Not Adrien_ , he thought. _Not my son. Not Adrien_. Every paternal instinct screamed at him to submit to this witch's demand. The thought of Adrien at her mercy could not be borne. But, with a surprising quickness, a cold rationale asserted itself. Without Nooroo's power, he would never win the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous. Emelie would be lost to him forever. If he could hold onto the Butterfly Miraculous, in spite of this woman's sorcery... well, the combined might of Creation and Destruction could restore two people to the world as easily as one.

 

“I can't,” he whispered. “I can't give you something I've never had. Leave us alone. Leave _Adrien_ alone.”

 

“Very well,” snarled the woman. “What happens next is on your head, Agreste. We'll see if you maintain this farce when I show you your son's soul, puling and pulsing between my hands.” She produced a small vial, opening it then thrusting it beneath his nose. A sickly sweet cloying scent sent his mind reeling.

 

“Sleep,” she muttered. “Sleep long and deep. Sleep until your dreaming spirit climbs every hill in France; until it crosses every stream between oceans west and east; until it counts every star in the midnight sky. Until that day comes, or until I call upon you again with the power of a Name that can not be denied, you will sleep, Gabriel Agreste.”

 

 _I'm sorry, Adrien,_ Gabriel thought as his consciousness slithered back down into darkness. _I'll make it up to you. I will make this right..._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hawk Moth bores me. 
> 
> Let me rephrase that: Hawk Moth all the time bores me. The fact that he is the only villain Ladybug and Cat Noir ever face tilts Miraculous more toward the Magical Girl genre than the Super Hero genre. Hawk Moth is basically Queen Beryl... a somewhat amusing thought, now that I consider it. It's also my thought that the addition of a couple of other villains, independent of Hawk Moth and with their own agendas, would help freshen up Miraculous a bit, give it more variety than the plot template Astruc and ZagToon seems determined to stick to. 
> 
> Anyhow, this story is an attempt to relieve some of my boredom with the situation. We'll see how this progresses, if at all. 
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read this.


End file.
